


A cat may look at a king

by Sparklefingers



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Doom cat, M/M, Stephen is a disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 07:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklefingers/pseuds/Sparklefingers
Summary: Stephen brings home a kitten despite Wong's protests.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	A cat may look at a king

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by osheets, who probably wanted something longer and to hit on more of his points but hey have this anyway
> 
> Reposted from a compilation work.

“You are not keeping it.”

Stephen clutches the hissing kitten closer to his chest, defensive.

“Why not? It’s so lonely and cute! It needs a home!”

“It needs a bath and a temperament adjustment.”

To his credit, Stephen does not stick his tongue out at Wong. It is a near thing though.

“Well I think he’s a darling. I’m keeping him.”

The kitten hisses more and tries his best to wiggle out of Stephen’s grasp, but even if he succeeded the claws were so badly caught in the fabric of Stephen’s gloves that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

To add further insult to injury, Stephen lifts the angry ball of fur up to his face and smiles at him. “How does that sound, sweetheart? Nice warm home and a bed to curl up and sleep on at night.”

“I am not washing your sheets if they’re full of cat fur.”

Stephen knows the threat is empty.

…

Stephen hopes the threat is empty.

* * *

This day has made the top five of worst days for Victor Von Doom. It would be an impressive feat to take the top spot, but that is not to undermine the accomplishment of making it this far up the list.

Another battle with Mephisto had left him with more than bruised pride this time. No, this time the demon lord had decided to add insult to injury. …Additional insult to injury.

Victor Von Doom; monarch of Latveria, the great destroyer, former God Emperor, master of science and sorcery, was currently a cat.

Not just a cat.

A kitten.

A small. Fluffy. Kitten.

A small fluffy kitten that was unjustly imprisoned inside the Sanctum Sanctorum.

The injustice of it all grated on Victor’s nerves. Despite his best attempts at escape he was still contained. After an attempt to knock several artefacts to the ground in the entrance of the Sanctum, he had been contained to Stephen’s room by Wong.

As it turned out, the windows in the room did not open. They may not even be real. They certainly didn’t look out on New York. Or rather, one of them did. The others seemed to look out around the world, gazing upon different landscapes and time zones. It was a little disconcerting.

After finding that there was no easy method of escape from the room with his small frame, Victor set about exploring the room. He may as well find out something useful about the Sorcerer Supreme while he was here. It was rare to be given such access to his private chambers.

The first thing that struck him was how disorganised the room was. Clothes were strewn about the room haphazardly like they had exploded off the man and not been moved. He was vaguely impressed with how many pairs of tights he owned. Particularly since as far as Victor had seen, the man had been wearing slacks of late. Socks were also strewn across the room, but there was a suspicious lack of underwear.

After he grew tired of exploring the floor, he crawled under the bed only to immediately evacuate as dust bunnies the size of his current form that appeared to be shaped like actual rabbits began advancing upon him. Thankfully, they remained in their own domain and did not follow him past the shadow of the bed.

Victor was going to have to have words with Stephen about the state of his chambers. This was just… disturbing.

His exploration is halted as the door suddenly opens. Immediately, he makes a break for the crack of light, only to find himself running in mid air as he is held aloft.

“Did you miss me that much, Pickles?” Stephen nuzzles his face into Victor’s, to which he responds by biting his nose. Stephen somehow doesn’t seem to react to the pain and just keeps nuzzling Victor.

What kind of a name is Pickles for a cat?

“Today has been the worst…” Stephen kicks off his shoes which land in two distinct piles of discarded tights around the room. The man is a slob. How he lives like this, Victor will never understand. Clutching Victor’s small frame to his chest, Stephen flops back onto his bed. The death grip relaxes, but as soon as Victor tries to escape from Stephen’s chest he grabs him and holds him in place. This continues for several moments before Victor decides it is a fruitless exercise and sits, glaring as fiercely as his face allows.

“Do you know how hard it is not being able to eat real food living in New York? There’s great food everywhere. I never even liked hot dogs, but every damn cart I pass I want nothing more than to shove every last one of them into my mouth. And the pizza!” Stephen wails in despair. He actually wails. Victor is… disturbed. “I miss pizza so much! Someone dropped a slice across the street, and I had to physically restrain myself from walking over there and yelling at them!”

Stephen rolls over onto his stomach suddenly, forcing Victor to jump out of the way or be crushed as the sorcerer buries his face into his pillow.

“I would trade anything for just one slice. Coffee. I miss coffee too. And ice cream. Milkshakes. Grilled cheese. Oh fuck, I could murder for a bagel that isn’t moving.”

Seeming to have run out of steam, Stephen stops moving. Victor cautiously creeps to the edge of the bed, but as he gets there makes the fatal mistake of looking back. The doctor looks utterly pathetic laid out like that. Sad. Lonely.

To his credit, Victor carefully inspects the door to ensure Stephen closed it behind him and he cannot escape the room before he climbs onto Stephen’s back and curls up across his shoulders.

The tension slowly seems to bleed out of Stephen’s body, and after a few moments Victor finds his body beginning to make a peculiar noise. He’s purring. How, he has no idea. But this further relaxes the man he is curled on so he decides not to question it too rigorously.

At some stage, Victor must have fallen asleep. He is roused to consciousness rather violently to the sound of screams as he lands on the hard wooden floor. He also appears to have found one of the earlier discarded shoes. Under his back.

“What in the name of the Vishanti are you doing in my bed?!”

Victor inspects his body and finds that he is no longer small or furry. Interesting.

“Napping, it would appear. Until I was rudely awakened.”

“What did you do with Pickles? Where is he?”

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Pickles is a terrible name for a cat.”

“Where. Is. My. Cat.”

“You imbecile. I was the cat. How else do you think I ended up in the exact location you left it?”

Stephen opens and closes his mouth a few times, utterly flummoxed. Victor sits on the ground, waiting patiently.

“...Please don’t tell anyone I live like this.”


End file.
